Sometimes urban living isn't all it's cracked up to be. For us, the past six weeks have been nothing but trouble. June started with Columbia Gas digging in our treeyard (site of Lil's garden) to run a new gas line. We were the lucky house on the block to receive the connection joint that required a hole six feet wide and four feet deep. Workers tried to be kind to our garden but split a four-year-old peach tree in two and trampled flowers and herbs. Because it's their right of way, we knew we were taking a risk when planting there but watching our beautiful garden destroyed was gut wrenching indeed.

Next came the storm that knocked out our power and my sense of direction. In such a dense area, having windows open meant we couldn't help but overhear conversations, children crying, and generators all night long. Prized shade trees shed branches over power lines that had to make restoring electricity all the more difficult for crews.

During the power outage mess, city bus drivers, providing central Ohio's only public transit, went on strike. While I don't use the bus frequently, I often use it for riding to the Doo Dah Parade, an option not available this year.

Meanwhile, the weather was unrelentingly hot: eleven days near or above 100 degrees, made worse by proximity to houses, cars and roads. The garden withered, chickens gular fluttered, and dogs didn't want to go outside. I worry about farmers, crops, and creatures, like the honey bees pictured above drinking sugar water from my hummingbird feeder.

Finally this morning I was awoken by a loud knock at 8 am. Columbia Gas was back to install supply lines to the house. Another full day of loud machines moving dirt trampled more of my garden, including mature raspberry plants.

I am usually an advocate for urban homesteading but today I am tired of city living. I want to run to the country where, in my grass-is-always-greener estimation, I could find a cool peace.